Can Silicon Valley Be Redeemed?

How far should one go to “become all things to all people,” to be in the world but not of it? In the words of the late Pope Francis, we ought never be so naive as to “dialogue with the devil.” But if not us, then who will bring the light of Christ into the darkest “peripheries” of our age?

Evangelistic efforts are less perilous on the cultural front, or at least the line between faithful engagement and sinful participation is clearly drawn. Not so with technology. Big Tech is often hostile to Christian values, and while certain new technologies are unmistakably antihuman, many others are ambiguous. The ethics of utilizing, let alone producing, a new technology can only be speculative when its ultimate telos is unknown.

As a techno-pessimist, I’m alarmed by the diabolical size of Silicon Valley’s power. Though I own a smartphone and use social media (begrudgingly), I avoid using new technologies as much as possible. I gave up my Spotify account for Lent last year, and never reactivated it. I’ve opted instead for the older tech of FM radio. There’s something grounding about listening to music chosen by actual people rather than algorithms. When the DJ spins a song I enjoy, it feels like a wink from the Almighty. My Luddism even extends to my disavowal of air conditioning, which strikes me as a destructive attempt to manipulate reality. I buy locally instead of patronizing idolatrous Amazon Prime. And I abhor ChatGPT—Big Tech’s Golden Calf—even forcing my students to handwrite their essays in class (much to their chagrin).

But my conviction that Big Tech is beyond redemption was challenged recently at a conference hosted by the Cluny Institute. Founded last year, Cluny is the brainchild of Luke Burgis, an entrepreneur and author of Wanting, which aimed to make René Girard’s theory of mimetic desire accessible to a general audience. Cluny takes its name from the medieval French monastery, which became a “nexus of learning, cultural transmission and technological advancement.” Burgis’s Cluny aims to “reimagine what such an institution might look like in the digital world.” Wary of modern technologies and institutions that foment “anti-human ideologies,” Cluny seeks to equip, connect, and “inspire a new generation of creators who recognize the primacy of the spiritual.”

Prior to launching Cluny, Burgis—a practicing Catholic—organized the Novitate Conference in November 2023, which used Girard’s thought to “bring together three metaphorical cities: Athens (reason), Jerusalem (faith Traditions), and Silicon Valley (innovators in business and beyond).” The conference stimulated important conversations and also provoked criticism, largely for having featured Peter Thiel, a student of Girard, as a keynote speaker. One attendee feared Thiel’s techno-vitalist speech peddled an “apocalyptic” form of nihilism that veered too near the “shadow of an Antichrist.”

Though smaller and less explicitly focused on Girard’s legacy, last month’s Metanoia Conference built on Novitate’s themes to explore “the foundations of conversion and the nature of change.” Attracting an eclectic array of writers, artists, tech entrepreneurs, think-tank leaders, and bookish trads, the conference featured panel discussions on topics ranging from literature, art, religion, and technology between speakers such as Eastern Orthodox theologian Fr. Mark Roosien, novelist and Cluny deputy director Jordan Castro, poet Ariana Reines, Marshall McLuhan’s grandson Andrew, anti-tech activist August Lamm, and Second Foundation Partners chief investment officer Ben Hunt.

Burgis is far from naive about the challenges posed by new technologies and the Silicon Valley moguls behind them, and certainly is not looking to baptize AI. In fact, several of the panelists sounded the alarm about technologies designed to eliminate human agency and any notion of the sacred. But the general tone of the conference was optimistic about faith dialoguing with Big Tech. In Burgis’s own words, “Vibes are not enough. Books are not enough. Nihilism is not enough. Interiority is not enough. Techno-vitalism is not enough. Techno-optimism is not enough. The Religious-Retreat Option is not enough. Effective altruism is not enough.” The conversion of technology toward genuinely pro-human ends requires experimentation guided by faith that transcends the immanence of our tools.

I couldn’t help but nod along with the techno-pessimists. I envy Lamm, who has foregone using a smartphone, and who is audacious enough to ask strangers on the street for directions. I was persuaded by Hunt that screens condition us with “well-manufactured, robust scripts about how to understand the world” that dampen our agency and instill incuriosity about the identity of the Conditioners (as C. S. Lewis called them). 

But perhaps what challenged me most was a “special event” following the gourmet-catered lunch: a half-hour of silent meditation, sans phones, laptops, and smartwatches, presented as an opportunity to shut out the noise of the world and contemplate, confronting the inner sanctum—and the questions, impulses, and desires that reside there. 

Many recent technological innovations seem designed to silence the yearning for the sacred that lies within each person’s heart. Yet Hunt reminded us that despite the ways Big Tech may be ordered toward weakening it, we still retain agency. Our hearts desire God, no matter how much the noise of technology may cloud that desire. It remains possible to ask, to seek, to listen within the silence, and to order new technologies to the common good. 

Though I may not be called or equipped to lead in the dialogue, the conference convinced me that it would be irresponsible to reject the possibility of Christian faith’s leavening Silicon Valley. And while I remain far from optimistic about AI and whatever else Silicon Valley has up its sleeve, I am grateful for people who are willing to brave the darkness of Big Tech.